A man was systematically beaten with a baseball bat, another was bashed, and teams of armed bikies were seen driving through Sebastopol, near Ballarat, with shotgun barrels stuck out the windows. Police searched the house of one bikie and found twenty-one sticks of gelignite and three shotguns, members of one gang were surrounded in a hotel and one bikie was beaten up at a Ballarat intersection in front of members of the public. One bikie group began to compile dossiers on rivals, including photos, home and business addresses, and known movements.
When facing a violent feud, police often try to broker a peace deal behind the scenes. There are no sensational headlines and no spectacular arrests, but many underworld figures owe their lives to quiet police intervention before guns do the talking.
But on that Friday night, 31 May, 1996, only the Vikings wanted to talk to Detective Senior Sergeant Graham Larchin and Detective Sergeant Rob Sodomaco from the organised crime squad. In the darkened carpark the two Vikings office bearers told the detectives their club wanted to exist in its own right and their members would respond with violence only if attacked.
The Bandidos didn’t even bother to turn up. Police telephoned them the following day, still trying to negotiate peace. The Bandidos responded with their own demands: they wanted guarantees that police would not attend, or even monitor national bike runs or fundraising concerts. They had their own plans and a peace deal with the Vikings was not part of them. The detectives concluded the bikies believed they were a law unto themselves.
Detectives reported back to senior officers that the Bandidos effectively wanted to be able to deal drugs without any police resistance. At that point the police decided conciliation and community policing had failed. It was time for old-fashioned detective work.
The target committee of the state crime squads met and declared Bandidos a major organised crime target and a priority investigation.
Over the previous thirty years target policing had usually failed against bike gangs. Police success against bikies has involved opportunistic investigations into individual crimes, not long-term exposure of the organisations themselves.
The trouble has been that outlaw motorcycle gangs around the world have proven almost impossible to infiltrate. In one case in the US, the undercover policeman was accepted into the bike group, but he turned and ultimately became worse than the criminals he was sent to pursue.
Despite concerns over the long-term chances of success, police set up Operation Barkly, the secret investigation into the Bandidos. In mid-1996 the Covert Investigation Unit briefed two of its best undercover men. Their mission: to do the impossible. That is, get inside the gang, be accepted as brothers and provide evidence that would stand up in court against Queen’s Counsel’s cross examination.
Wes and Alby were born. They were two unemployed men in their late twenties on the fringes of the criminal world. Wes was to have a criminal record involving drugs. They were then set up in a rented house in Ballarat. Both were keen to make money and were happy to go outside the law to do it.
To what length the police department went to provide false identities for the men must remain secret, as these methods will be used again. Suffice to say Wes and Alby were to go deeper undercover than any police in Australia had ever been before.
THE carefully sculptured image of the Bandidos as a group of renegades who dropped out of society to share an interest in bikes, booze and broads is anything but true. The bikie world actually mimics mainstream society where money and power open doors and those who do not obey the rules are eventually shunned.
At a struggling chapter like Ballarat the fee for members was $105 per month plus $1000 to join, putting it in a league just behind an exclusive club such as Royal Melbourne Golf Club.
According to police the fees for members at the Prospect chapter in Sydney were $600 a month — seemingly steep dues given that most of the members were supposed to be unemployed battlers on the dole. Most of each month’s dues were divided between the national defence fund, local legal fees, the central chapter and clubhouse rent. Members leaving the club were also expected to ‘donate’ their Harley Davidsons to the Bandidos. This was no glee club.
One young member without a job said he had just bought a top of the range Landcruiser for $60,000 and a Harley for $30,000. ‘Paid cash,’ he bragged. The gang had set up chapters in Geelong, Ballarat, Perth, Brisbane’s hinterland, Griffith, Hunter Valley, Sydney, inner Sydney, Prospect, NSW north coast, inner Brisbane and Cairns.
With almost 300 members in Australia and connections with the overseas organisation, they had the power to intimidate and apparently had access to unlimited weaponry to back up any threats.
Police say the Bandidos used a shoulder-fired anti-tank rocket launcher to kill two and injure seventeen at a Copenhagen Hells Angels’ party in 1996. According to police, one of the suspects later travelled to Australia for a national bike run and complained that he couldn’t hear for two weeks after he fired the rocket.
The Bandido Motorcycle gang was formed in Texas in 1966 by Donald Eugene Chambers, who was later convicted of killing two men who allegedly ripped off the gang in a drug deal. According to the FBI, the first Australian chapter was established in Sydney in 1983.
The FBI found the Sydney chapter was opened to give the gang access to Australian chemicals, banned in the US, that could be used in the production of amphetamines.
For fifteen years police have regarded the Bandidos as the most violent bikie gang in Australia. In 1984 the Bandidos and the Commancheros opened fire on each other in what became known as the Milperra Father’s Day massacre that left six bikies and a fifteen-year-old girl dead. The gangs gave the impression it was a romantic battle over ‘turf’. It wasn’t. It was over drugs.
According to US authorities the Bandidos is one of ‘The Big Four’ international bikie organised crime groups. It has one of the best counter-intelligence systems and is considered the hardest to crack.
It was not the only international bikie group to establish strong links in Australia. Lax rules in relation to chemicals used for speed, such as P2P, meant this country was regarded as ripe for colonisation. The US Hells Angels were provided with huge quantities of P2P from their Australian connections, smuggled into America in pineapple tins. An American hitman was intercepted at Melbourne airport after police received information he had taken a contract to kill a local detective.
The federal government tried to ban international bikie leaders from entering Australia, but many still managed to arrive, some legally, and others under false names. Police around Australia were alerted in 1998 to look for an international outlaw bikie boss, wanted for questioning in the US over a series of murders and bombings linked with organised crime.
The FBI contacted the Australian Bureau of Criminal Intelligence and asked for assistance after receiving information that the international president of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, Harry Joseph Bowman, might be hiding in Australia.
Bowman, one of the FBI’s top ten most wanted criminals, was reported to be ‘armed and extremely dangerous.’
According to the FBI: ‘Bowman heads the Outlaws operations in more than thirty cities in the United States and twenty chapters in at least four other countries (including Australia). Bowman may be guarded by members of the Outlaws.
‘Harry Joseph Bowman, international president of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, is wanted for his alleged involvement in violent racketeering acts (that) include murders, bombings, drug trafficking, extortion, firearms violations, and other acts of violence.
‘Bowman was allegedly involved in the murders of two Outlaws members and may have participated in the murder of a rival motorcycle club member. The indictment alleges that he ordered the bombings of rival motorcycle clubhouses.’
The FBI has offered a $50,000 reward for information leading to his arrest.
The Outlaws were formed in Chicago in the 1950s and Bowman, known as ‘Taco’ took over as National President in 1984. US authoritie
s say the gang has been heavily involved in distributing cocaine in Florida, and has developed strong drug connections in Colombia and Cuba.
US police claim the Outlaws were responsible for at least 115 murders over thirteen years, and another twenty-nine murders in Canada. ‘The Outlaws have also utilised explosives and bombing devices in carrying out acts against perceived “enemies”,’ an FBI investigation found.
‘The Outlaws engage in extensive witness intimidation and jury tampering efforts which closely parallel other outlaw motorcycle gang tactics.’
WHEN Victorian police decided to try to infiltrate one of the Big Four, they knew the tactic had failed around the world. Any chance of success rested with the ability of the two undercover police selected for the job.
Alby and Wes moved to Ballarat determined to keep a low profile. Being too keen would have ruined their chances. They had to develop trust with a gang of men who seemed determined to trust nobody.
The Bandidos say they are no longer part of society. ‘This is why we look repulsive. We’re saying we don’t want to be like you or look like you,’ according to their code. Their motto is ‘God forgives, Bandidos don’t.’
But bike gangs can’t live in isolation. They need cannon fodder: men who want to be near the tough guys and bask in dubious reflected glory. These are the people seen to be disposable. They are used to guard buildings and run errands. In return they attend parties and can buy drugs at a cheaper rate.
When Wes and Alby drifted into town they were treated with suspicion at first. But over months they ran into the Bandidos at pubs and drinking holes in the area and the relationships slowly warmed.
To the bikies, the two seemed ideal, men who were prepared to look the other way at the right time and weren’t too concerned about the subtleties of the criminal code. In November, 1996, Wes and Alby were invited to the clubhouse at 4 Greenbank Court, Delacombe, for a party.
If it was a test, they passed. It was the first step in a thirteen-month journey that would lead the two undercover police to give up their professional and personal lives to become beer-swilling, foulmouthed bikies.
They stayed on the periphery before finally being invited to become ‘hangarounds’. This put them in a position where they were welcome at any Bandidos’ chapter in Australia.
They were in.
Alby arrived as a would-be bikie. He had a Harley Davidson borrowed by the force for the job. Wes bought his from the president of the Ballarat chapter, Peter Skrokov, with $17,000 provided by the police department. ‘We got ripped-off,’ a police bean-counter observed later.
It might sound glamorous, to leave the mundane routine of most jobs to ride motorbikes and live on the edge. But the edge was doubly dangerous for the undercover operators — one slip could mean exposure and death. They had to remember every lie and stick strictly to the script.
The simplest everyday occurrences could take on new and sometimes frightening significance. Everybody sometimes runs into an old friend or acquaintance in the strangest place. For most people it is merely an unexpected surprise. For an undercover police officer it could be fatal. During the operation one of the police, wearing his Bandido leathers, was filling his Harley Davidson with petrol at a service station. He looked up to see his next-door neighbour from his “other life” filling the tank of the family sedan at the next bowser. To his relief he passed unrecognised.
Wes and Alby were to report, word for word, what they had learnt, including the Bandidos’ greeting — right handshake, left arm embrace and kiss on the lips. Ironically, the police agents may have done the bikies they were tracking a huge favour in the long term. Senior police believe the undercovers not only gathered evidence to use in prosecutions, but saved lives with several early warnings of planned attacks on opposition bikie groups. More than once they slipped away to warn of planned ambushes and police were able to set up blitzes, road blocks and other operations to stop the violence. Each time it was made to look as though it was just bad luck that thwarted the Bandidos attacks.
Detective Superintendent Ian Thomas, the head of the organised crime and task force division, said; ‘There is no doubt the two undercover police were at grave risk. Their work helped us move in and stop incidents with the potential to turn violent.’
But it was not one-way traffic. The club rule enforcer, the Ballarat Sergeant-at-Arms, Andrew Michlin, approached Wes and Alby and asked would they grow hydroponic marijuana in their home? It was an offer too good to refuse.
Their rented home in Lydiard Street, Ballarat, was filled with state-of-the-art recording equipment. Michlin set up one of the bedrooms as an indoor nursery, complete with lights, watering systems and tubs. It was all recorded.
Wes and Alby were promoted to ‘prospects’ in August, 1997, and on 21 October they were promoted to full members on twelve months probation. This was personally ratified by the national president of the Bandidos, Michael Kulakowski.
The power and charisma of Kulakowski was undisputed. He was internationally respected in the bikie world, so much so that he flew to the US in July 1996 to be part of peace negotiations to stop a war between the Hells Angels and the Bandidos in Europe that had claimed eleven lives.
A former soldier and rodeo rider, ‘Mick K’ or ‘Chaos’ as he was known by his bikie mates, opted out of mainstream society at forty, but he still enjoyed the trappings of success. He drove a Mercedes, owned a $300,000 home and a top of the range Harley Davidson.
The Bandidos already had a strong grip on the amphetamines market and a healthy sideline in marijuana. But under Kulakowski the gang was moving into the lucrative club drugs of ecstasy and LSD.
According to police the Bandidos needed distribution points to move into the new wave of drugs and began to set up ‘techno discos’ where they could begin to cultivate thousands of new clients.
Senior Victorian Bandidos were observed in Sydney discussing plans to open techno discos in Ballarat and Geelong as fronts to sell ecstasy and LSD as part of the national expansion.
Wes and Alby were able to buy LSD from the Ballarat Bandidos for $5 a tab. Later they were able to buy it for $3.50 from the Sydney chapter as brothers were prepared to undercut brothers. They transferred money to a Bandido-controlled bank account in NSW and the drugs were moved by express post to a designated post box.
The profits were massive, with each tab selling for $7 retail. Each sheet contained 200 tabs and the Bandidos bragged their courier was walking in through Sydney airport carrying a bundle of LSD sheets twenty-five centimetres thick on every smuggling run.
Bandidos were selling LSD with the Sydney Olympic Logo, a Smiley design, love hearts, and Beavis and Butthead stamps. According to the Melbourne undercovers, the Victorian Bandidos planned to move into the party drug scene. Police were later to say that Alby and Wes were involved in more than thirty deals buying marijuana, amphetamines, LSD and ecstasy from Bandidos in three states during their thirteen months living undercover. They were so trusted that Alby became the secretary-elect for the Ballarat chapter, giving him access to the club’s financial records.
The Bandidos continued their plans to expand through regional Victoria. The next target was Wangaratta and that meant an attack on the local club, the Tramps. In February, 1996, the President of the Tramps received a letter in the post. It said the Tramps, their friends and children, would be in danger if the gang did not disband and leave town.
In May, 1997, the Broke Brothers tried to reform for a run. About thirty Bandidos from Ballarat and Geelong rode to Kyabram for a show of strength.
But Wes and Alby were able to report the planned attack in time that police gathered at Kyabram in such force they were able to keep the hostile groups apart.
Despite the ongoing violence the bikies continued to refuse to cooperate with police. The Sergeant-At-Arms, Andrew Michlin, made the mistake of allowing police to conduct a search without a warrant. He was busted back to prospect as a punishment.
The power of the gro
up over the individual is complete. A member of the Griffith chapter, Dean Francis Corboy, declared that a member of the Tramps looked the wrong way at him at Wangaratta on 3 October, 1997. He summoned sixty members from Geelong, Ballarat and Griffith for a confrontation at Wangaratta.
According to the Bandidos code, members were expected to just walk out of their jobs and drive. When a brother needs help, whether he is right or wrong, you must support him. But one of the undercovers managed to get the message to police and when the Bandido strike force turned up there ‘just happened’ to be a major police blitz on in Wangaratta. Wherever the bikies went they were pulled over. Also unexplained was why no members of the Tramps were anywhere to be seen that night.
Just to show their strength the Bandidos started their 1997 National run in Wangaratta on 23 October, with more than 250 bikers from Australia and around the world present in full colours. To make matters worse for a country town with limited police resources it was the break-up day for VCE students. The town would be filled with drunken bikies and drunken teenage girls. It was every parent’s nightmare. Police had a meeting with Kulakowski and explained the situation. He agreed to keep control and ‘Chaos’ sent out the message to his troops — stay cool. The night passed without incident. ‘That was his power,’ a senior policeman said. The power to make peace, or war, at whim.
The 250 bikies moved on to Geelong and, according to police, went to a popular local nightclub. The owner set up a special room for them but they wanted the run of the nightclub and the manager baulked. Kulakowski gave the nod and they trashed the place and bashed the bouncers. No official complaint was ever lodged.
On 24 October, 1997, some of the gang, including a few international Bandidos, went out to test fire their illegal firearms. One of the overseas visitors had to be dissuaded from opening fire on a passing Geelong-Melbourne train.
The National Run was to prove the highlight of Kulakowski’s reign. He had charisma and power, but that won’t stop a bullet. On 9 November Kulakowski, Sergeant-at-Arms Bruce Harrison and fellow member Rick De Stoop, were shot dead in the basement of a Sydney dance club. Another Bandido was shot in the head, but survived.
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